This is my first Mother’s Day without my mom. I don’t grieve my loss of her as much as I first did, but I miss her. She was 99, just over a month shy of turning 100, and she was done with life. She wanted to go, and it would be cruel of me to wish that she hadn’t. Instead, I’m grateful that she lived long enough for us to finally get along with each other.
I am my mom’s youngest, and I was unexpected. I often felt unwanted as well, being that my birth and childhood seemed to coincide with my father’s decline into mental illness. When I was quite young, I was intimdated by my mother. She had a strong personality, and she didn’t seem to care how deeply her words might cut.
When I became a teenager and then a young adult, we were like oil and water. She’d argue that she just wanted to be friends with me, protect me from the dangers of the world. I’d argue that I needed to make mistakes. I needed to be on my own.
But there were other times. I confided in her when my boyfriend stood me up again, or when I found out that a different boyfriend had been cheating on me. When she couldn’t talk me out of moving to California, she took me with her to AAA and got me all the maps I’d need to find my way.
There were times in my life when I thought I wouldn’t miss her once she was gone. It was easy to feel that way while she was alive, and we spent most of our time arguing.
After her second husband died, and she was living on her own for the first time in her life, she changed. She mellowed. Live and let live. Other than the occasional admonishment to remember my brother’s birthday, we got along. She’d talk about birds mostly, or playing the slot machines at the casino, or getting her hair done, or going berry picking, or going to lunch with my sister and a few nieces. She’d talk about my sisters or the grandkids or her remaining siblings. Mostly she’d talk about herself.
As the years went by, we had more frequent but brief conversations. She tired easily. And after her daughters had died, she cried a lot.
In the spring of 1992, I wrote the first draft of a short story for a writing workshop led by Jerome Stern. I have spent the better part of my writing life trying to sort out my parents’ relationship and to see my parents as individuals, separate from me.
I wasn’t privy to their intimate moments, their lives before I showed up, and even after I was born, I was shielded from knowing too many details. So I had to turn to fiction to help myself understand what their lives might have been like.
The result is “Love Me Tender.” My story is available through BookFunnel. You can download your preferred reading format through this link: Love Me Tender.
Here’s a brief description:
Sometimes we love someone we can’t help, beyond loving them. Irene Newkirk loves her husband but his mental illness continues to worsen despite hospital stays and treatments and Irene’s desperate efforts to keep her family whole. Love Me Tender tells the story of a few hours in Irene’s life as she comes to grips with the fact that her husband won’t be coming home again.
Again, this story is free to read, unless you want a print copy which is available at Lulu.
My story is not available through Amazon or any other outlet but BookFunnel and Lulu.